


Write It On My Heart.

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adopted Keith (Voltron), M/M, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Lance (Voltron), Suicidal Thoughts, tags will be added l8r sk8r
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 08:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20871182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Lance is a suicide survivor with anxiety.Keith has major depression.When they meet, it's under the most unlikely circumstances.





	Write It On My Heart.

The two white mechanical doors screech as they open, and Keith looks up from his phone to the doors. A darker-skinned boy walks through, a long line on his face and long sleeves. It was early in the morning, therefore it was a surprise to see someone there with him.  _ “A self harmer,” _ Keith thought,  _ “Like everyone else here.” _

Keith didn't have anything against anyone who did that, but how could they? It seemed… Unbearable. The blue-eyed boy walked over with a tablet in his hands and after being checked in by a very tired mother, he sat down by Keith. In this empty seating area, couldn’t he have chosen to sit  _ anywhere _ else? With a slouch of his shoulders, Keith popped his earbuds back in and watched through the corner of his eyes as the other boy started filling out the YOQ*. 

_ “Damn, this kid is really fucked up.”  _ Keith watched with a small amount of concern as the fidgety boy finished up the quiz. He had clicked “Almost everyday” to almost every question, which was a tad worrying. His score was beyond that of an impatient, that was for sure. He almost didn’t hear the therapist calling for him until the blue eyes met his.

“Are you Keith?”

“Oh.”

Keith stood up and walked to the door where the short woman was standing, eyes lingering on the other boy as more youth entered the small building. 

  * \- -

Lance returned the tablet to the check-in desk right as his name was called out by Iverson, his therapist. Looking across the room at the tall man, he shuttered. Judging by Iverson’s expression, this was going to be a painful session. Lance’s mom was filling out papers in the corner of the room, stopping to look up and smile at him. With a deep breath, he made his way across the sitting-room towards his therapist. 

He flinched as Iverson set a firm hand in the center of his back, guiding him with force towards the bland room. Lance took a seat where he normally did- A black office chair sitting in the far corner of the room. Iverson took a seat by his computer, the grey cushions sighing under his weight. The heavier man looked down on Lance. 

“So, Lance, what did you do this weekend? Did you finish your homework?”

Oh, right. He’d forgotten to keep a journal about how he was feeling. Iverson wasn’t going to let him forget again…

“Again? Why can’t you do something as simple as this?”

“I-I’m sorry, sir.”

“Apologies won’t cut it. Come closer.”

Iverson talked his ear off on why he was “ _ not suited to be alive” _ , but Lance was hardly listening. All he could think about was if the man was going to hurt him or not. Judging how he’d been in there for maybe half the session, he started to get his hopes up that he’d get out of there unscathed. 

The smaller boy did as he was told whilst the older man stared, pondering where to leave his mark. Or, maybe he should do something more this time…

“On your knees.”

“H-Huh? Sir, wha-” Lance’s voice was caught off by a yelp as the man forced him down, heavy hands pressuring his shoulders. 

“Stay there.”

Lance watched as Iverson left the room, beginning to tremble. He thought of running, but before he could muster up the courage to even move, the man was back, holding a notebook, pen, and small Xacto knife. 

“Sir..? Please, don’t-”

“Shut up.” He shut the door behind him and started to tear Lance’s shirt off after setting the items down on his already-messy desk. The cold hit is exposed torso, and he shivered. Iverson had hit him almost weekly before, but he’d never gotten any weapon other than his fists. Thoughts stormed through his head, and he didn’t even see the man pick up the small knife and take off the cover, moving to Lance’s back side.

“3… 2… 1...”

“Wait-!”

“0.”

The knife hit his back, and Lance lurched forwards, gasping out as he felt the blood slowly weep down his spine.

“0.”

Iverson repeated, and sliced his backside again- deeper this time. Lance cried out, ear leaving him unable to move.

“0.”

  * \- -

Again and again, over and over, until Lance’s torso was numb and he was sobbing; Large, rib-rattling sobs that moved through his whole body. He could only sigh in relief as Iverson walked out of the room. But the words Iverson said next shook him to his core, hitting his heart like a hammer hitting a nail. 

“I’m going to get a sharper knife.”

And with that, the therapist left him shaking in his shadow, with the door open for anyone to see.

He could feel the panic rising in his chest and anxiety churning in his stomach.  _ “I need to get out of here i need to get out let me out someone help please let meoutsomeonehelppleaseineedreleasehesgoingtokillmeimgoingtodiesoMEONEHELPMEPLEASEICANTTAKETHISPLEASELETMEREACHOUTHESGOING TO  _ ** _KILL ME_ ** _ ” _

Iverson stared at him through the doorway, and Lance realized he had shouted the last two words.

“What?”

“I didn’t- That- I-”

Before the therapist could hurt him any longer, a few other therapists were in the doorway, and Lance could see familiar eyes and a mullet there, too; The boy- Keith- from the waiting lounge. Lance had tears in his eyes and black spots in his vision. Looking up, he whispered a few words to Keith before he blacked out, body going limp.

“ _ Please don’t let him hurt me” _

  * \- -

Keith was finishing up his useless session. The therapist talked more about her dying dog than a comedian would make jokes. It was annoying. Once the session was over, the lady started guiding him through the grey/blue carpeted halls to get back to the lonely lounge. A few other counselors were in the halls, a larger one standing in the doorway of a darker, less-pleasant room. Keith could hear sobbing, but out of nowhere-

“ **KILL ME** ”

The weak voice screamed from the room, strained and harsh, and the two therapists along with himself walked over to the room. The larger man in the doorway was talking to him, and once Keith peered in, he was mortified with what he saw. 

The boy from the seating area had his shirt off, long, thin lines bleeding across his back. The older therapist had a small knife in his hand that had blood on it. Keith stepped forward to get the man away from the boy, but those sapphire eyes met his;

“ _ Please don’t let him hurt me.. _ ”

The boy slumped down, obviously still conscious, but shaking wildly. Was he having a seizure? Before he could reach the boy one of the therapists had the man against the wall with the knife on the ground, and Keith’s therapist was holding the boy and telling him to breathe.

The cops were called, but before Keith could see the aftermath, his foster mom was guiding him through the double set of white doors and into the car. 

“Mom, we need to go back-”

“Shut  _ up _ , Keith, For Christ’s sake, you’re so goddamn demanding.. I’m already taking you here  _ weekly _ . Isn’t that enough?” Keith was silenced harshly. Sinking down into the car’s grey seat, Keith watched the pedestrians and sidewalk fly by as his mom booked it down the road. Despite himself knowing it wasn’t worth his time and that he’d never see the boy again, Keith was thinking of him. 

  * \- -

A few weeks after the incident, Keith’s foster family was launching immense news onto him- He’s moving foster homes, again, but this time to one only down the street, and he was going to start partaking in group therapy every Wednesday. 

“I knew you never wanted me..” Keith started grabbing his belongings, only taking half an hour as he had grown used to moving around. Everything that was happening was routine for him. The other children looking glad to see him leave, the parent’s eyes flooded with relief as the burden was taken off his shoulder. 

One thing that was new was the short drive to a home only a few blocks over.

A smaller, sturdy house was in front of him, the smooth walls a tint of yellow and the roof brick red. Plants were hanging down from small hooks on the gutter, toys littering the walls, the car he was in adding on to the other 3 in the driveway. All of the cars were banged up in one way or another, let it be scratched paint or simple shagginess. 

A woman with curly brown hair that reflected fondly against her green shirt walked out of the front door with a small child bouncing on her hip and ones of varying ages running through the door at her feet. They all looked like the presumed mother in one way or another, but they all were hispanic. Keith exited the car and gave no sign of hearing his last parent’s words as he walked towards the house.

“I’m Ke-” The small children stared at Keith, some of them boldly stepping forwards whilst others hid behind their mother’s legs. 

“Hello! You must be Keith! I’m Maria, and these are… Well, they are quite the handful!”

Maria gestured to the kids around her, but once she did so most of them ran forwards. There were two small kids standing directly by him, aside from the one on her hip. Keith could see a few older people watching him through the doorway with smiles on their faces, the warmth from inside inviting unlike his last home. On the sofa, he saw a familiar jacket, but he didn’t know where from.  _ Whatever. _

The family all stepped outside and began introducing each other. An older man stepped forward with a woman by his side, corralling two kids up.

“Hi, Keith,” He said with a heartfelt smile. “I’m Luis, and this is my wife, Dena. These are our two children, Nadia and Sylvio.”

He pointed towards the shorter one when he said Nadia, and the taller, more flamboyant one when he said Sylvio.

“Hello. I’m Keith.” The mother stepped forward, bringing the child she was carrying up to her chest. 

“As you know, I’m Maria, and this is Viktor.” She gestured to the child who, as if on cue, started crying. “Whoops, I’ll be right back out.” 

Maria disappeared inside as a small girl and a larger boy stepped forward. The boy was a bit larger, but stood the same height as the girl. 

“I’m Ma-arco!” The boy held out the ‘a’ and pointed finger guns as Keith with a dashing smile. He smiled back, turning his attention to the girl once she started to speak.

“Uh- I’m Rachel.” She was thin, wearing a dress with Hello Kitty on the front. 

“Hi, Rachel.” Keith reached out gingerly to shake her hand, having dealt with other kids just like this in different homes. A tall, jaw-dropping girl stood taller and pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. Just by looking at her you could tell she was  _ extremely _ smart. Or, maybe that was just a stereotype. Whatever. 

“I’m Veronica.” Even though the others had a very light accent, her voice made their accents so much more dramatic. She spoke perfect english. “There’s one more of this family you haven’t met yet, but he’s sleeping. He had a bad week...” Her voice trailed off and Keith raised an eyebrow. 

In only a few minutes they had ushered him inside and led him to a small room in what he believed to be the attic- It had a triangular roof and a bunk bed. On the far side of the room the bunk bed stood next to a desk with textbooks and art supplies on it. In the corner there was a guitar and a ukulele. Keith set his stuff down when a voice rang out, more familiar than the jacket he’d seen- 

“Bottom bunk.”

“Wh-” The voice came from the top bunk of the bed, the same jacket from before laying on it. 

“You sleep on the bottom bunk.”

The voice was nasally, and he knew that the person had been crying. They were shaking, most likely from nerves, not sobs. 

“Okay.” Keith tried to be as sympathetic as possible, setting his stuff down on the lower bunk quietly and wandering the room. He jumped as a loud bang came from behind him, the boy now on the ground and standing up.

It was..

“It’s you! From- From-!”

“Keith? You- Wh- From therapy?”

The two looked at each other for a second before Keith spoke up.

“Is your back okay?”

Lance went rigid. That, obviously, was the wrong thing to say. Tears sprung to the boys eyes and he looked away.

“I- I’m sorry-”

“No, no, it’s fine.”

A sweet, relaxing scent hit his nose, and both Lance and Keith breathed in deeply at the same time. They laughed.

“Let’s go eat.”

“What’s your name, by the way?”

“Lance.”

“Lance… I’m Keith.”

Lance walked towards the door, beginning to descend the ladder. “I know.” 

**Author's Note:**

> * A YOQ is a Youth Outcome Questionnaire that they typically do at therapy units.


End file.
